


Into Place

by banshee_in_the_dark



Series: Lazy Lover Series [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, Feelings, First Time, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, Making Love, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Romance, a bit of angst, lots of comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-04
Updated: 2014-05-04
Packaged: 2018-01-21 20:19:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1562720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/banshee_in_the_dark/pseuds/banshee_in_the_dark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ignoring Lydia Martin is never a good idea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Into Place

**Author's Note:**

> Well, before anything I'd like to apologize in advance for whatever feels induced meltdown you have. The plot became an angry angsty monster and it wanted to be let out and play. Hopefully I balanced it out with some nice smut. You tell me.

His phone lights up and flashes a photo of Lydia but Stiles makes no move to get it. He reconciled himself with the fact that Lydia is probably furious with him by now and wants to yell at him and/or punch him in the face about three phone calls ago, so he just lets it go to voicemail and keeps his nose buried in the bestiary Deaton asked him to translate.

The text was in Cassubian, which was apt since it illustrated various supernatural creatures indigenous to West Eastern European countries but also made the task tediously slow going. His Polish was quite rusty, a fact which would make his mother livid to no end, and Cassubian, while a direct dialect of the Polish language, he was not familiar with at all. The entire volume was covered in colored sticky notes and he was translating as best he could with the help of the Polish-English dictionary he unearthed from the attic, but he might need to take a trip to Sacramento and pay a visit to his mother’s elderly aunt and consult on some of the vocab with her, although he was not anticipating explaining why he was interested in a centuries old book about forest giants and were-spirits _at all_.

The phone lights up again –it’s been on silent since phone call #4- and the heavy dread sets lower in his gut. He doesn’t want to ignore Lydia. Really, if he could he’d be with her every minute of every day. Nothing makes him feel quite as good as having Lydia Martin near him.

But things are so fucked up now.

Okay, he’s not gonna complain about the, shall we call it _development_ , in their relationship. In fact, if it had happened in another context, he’d be pretty fucking thrilled alright? This is the girl he’s been ass over heels for since the third grade, the girl he’s always wanted but never, 15 year plan not-withstanding, actually thought he would get. She’s not even something you _get_ , he realizes now how stupid and childish his notions were in that respect. Lydia Martin is not a goal or a destination or something you get handed over when you finally proved your worth. She is simply the girl he wants to love. He should be over the moon now that she’s letting him, to some extent.

And yes, knowing precisely what sounds she makes when she comes, how much softer to touch her skin is than he imagined, how she breaks out in goose bumps when he tweaks her nipples or how velvety her folds are when she’s wet for him is basically a dream come true. He wants to play those moments on repeat in his mind over and over again and forget it can’t go further than that.

He’ll give her anything she wants. Her happiness and well-being are high up on his list of priorities, and if she needs him to ‘help’ her sleep every day for the rest of their lives, he is so there. But that’s not going to happen for two simple reasons. The first and foremost, her sleeping cycle will eventually even out and she won’t need any help in that department and/or she’ll find someone else, someone she’s actually attracted to and that person will take care of that. He’s not deluding himself here. He and Lydia are friends, really good ones he likes to think, so coupled with losing Allison and Aiden it’s natural that she should seek comfort with someone close to her, even if it’s just plain old Stiles. She’s not in love with him. It’s fine.

And in the odd chance she does have some sort of feelings for him, it _still_ can go nowhere. Which brings him to reason number two. Say she does want him and care about him in any other way than as friends, what then? He has nothing to give her. She’ll want _things_ , things he doesn’t think he’s capable of even _thinking_ anymore much less doing. How could they ever work when he single-mindedly wants to give her everything in the world but won’t take anything in return?

So he defaults to his usual conflict dealing mechanism: ignore it until it goes away. Problem is, he never felt so terrible deflecting like he does now knowing Lydia is going to get hurt some way or another in the end.

With a heavy sigh, he scrawls a note in a blue post-it and sticks it on the corner of the page he’s working on. At least when Lydia inevitably finds him and asks him why he never answered his phone, Stiles can say he was engrossed in the translation and forgot it was on silent. Yeah, she’d totally buy that.

“Stilinski.”

“ _Jesus!_ ” he jumps from his bed holding the bestiary before him as a shield. Just under his threshold a fuming Lydia glares daggers at him. “How did you get in?”

“That’s seriously all you have to say for yourself?” she snaps, striding across the room towards him. She deposits her bag with far more enthusiasm than necessary on his desk and turns to stare him down, arms tightly crossed and chest heaving in an effort to remain calm. “I know you keep your spare behind the loose brick on the side of the house.”

“Oh. Impressive deductive skills you have there,” he tries to joke through the sudden rush of blood directed to his brain and the loud ringing in his ears it caused. This is the time of truth. _Keep your cool Stiles, she won’t buy your excuse if you look guilty_. “Whatcha doing here? I was just translating this fascinating book Deaton gave me, it’s such a riveting read –” 

“Cut the crap,” she snatches his phone from where it sat lonely on his pillow. “Seven missed calls and nineteen texts, Stiles?”

“I’m sorry,” he cautiously approaches her while she continues to sift through all of her calls and texts. “It’s on silent I didn’t realize –”

“You answered Scott’s texts,” Lydia says quietly and he can plainly see the hurt in her eyes.

She shoves his phone against his chest, leaving him to catch it before it falls down when she moves away to the other side of the room putting as much space between them as possible.

“What happened?” she asks. The way she ducks her head, how her face is pinched trying to look stronger than she wants to be and her eyes reveal just how vulnerable she really feels bring him back to the night she came to see him after she though Jackson was dead, and he hates it, because that night ended with him on the sidelines and coming to terms with the fact that while Lydia would always be the one for him, he wasn’t the one for her. That still hasn’t changed and he knows it, but frankly, he can do without the reminder. “Why didn’t want to talk to me?”

“That’s not –” he ducks his head and nervously rubs the back of his neck. “Trust me, Lydia, there’s nothing in the world I want to do more than talk to you.”

“Then why were you ignoring me?”

He avoids her look, shakes his head.

“It really hurt me,” Lydia admits, coming slowly to stand in front to him. “Especially after… Stiles, look at me please,” her voice takes on a hard edge. “I deserve that much.”

She deserves much more but telling her that is not going to help his case at all.

“I thought we agreed what happened between us was _special_ ,” she grabs his hand and twins their fingers together. Her warmth is a stark contrast of how cold and inadequate he feels inside.

“It was. I just –I don’t know where to go from here.”

She sighs, relieved, and gives a watery little giggle. “Well, silly,” she pokes him teasingly in the middle of his chest with her finger. “I would say that the next step would be _me_ making _you_ feel good for a change, though I’m not opposed to postponing that until after we go on an official first date.”

He both loves and hates her for saying that. This is so much worse than her wanting to be with someone else. Because knowing she wants him and being unable to reciprocate the way she deserves it’s like getting stabbed a thousand times. Her being so close to him, enough for Stiles to smell the faint lavender scent of her, is not helping either.

“I can’t –I’m sorry Lydia you have to go.”

He brushes past her, goes to reorganize the school books in his desk to give his trembling hands something to do. They itch to touch her, comfort her, and he can’t give into it, not anymore.

“Okay. What is going on with you?”

“Nothing!”

She arches her eyebrow unimpressed, hands on hips akimbo.  “You wanna try that again? I know you want me. I know you care about me,” Stiles flinches involuntarily. He knows she’s not trying to make him feel pathetic but, god, is he ever… “I didn’t imagine what happened last night or the night before that,” she says softly. “It felt _right_ , so please just be honest with me.”

“Lydia, I want to be with you. I always have,” he swallows. “But I can’t.”

“What do you mean you can’t?” she says, frustration laced in her voice.

“I _can’t_.”

The emphasis he put on the word gives her pause. “You _can’t_ can’t?” Lydia frowns and carefully takes a few steps closer to him. “Like, physically? Like,” her eyes dart down suggestively. “ _It_ can’t?”

“Oh my _god_ ,” he rolls his eyes. “ _It_ ,” he gestures wildly to his private region “works just fine. I just –” his hand flies to his face, scratching his jaw. “I just… don’t feel like me I guess. Like it’s wrong.”

Her brow knits in confusion, but she silently encourages him to continue.

“I was possessed. And Void may be gone but I still hear a little voice inside my head saying what if I’m not alone in my body, what if there’s someone else, what if this is a dream and I just –I can’t shut it out,” he collapses on his swirl chair. “This isn’t even my real body. Mine turned to ash when we changed Void and this one _somehow_ materialized from a pile of bandages on the fucking floor.”

Stiles runs his fingers through his hair, pulling at the ends frustratingly. “And I may or may not have had sex with Malia,” he forces himself to look at her when he says this, sees how the confession practically slaps her across the face. “I don’t know if it was real or if it was Void messing with me.”

It sure felt real at the moment –but the last thing he remembers he was falling asleep due to the sedatives Bronski gave him and Morrel  said Void would take over when that happened, so how could Malia just wake him up? But she did bring the sword and the picture to Scott so they _were_ down there together, even if he’s drawing blank when he tries to remember when exactly he gave them her.

“The point is, I don’t know if that happened, I don’t know how I am even _alive_ , and I’m terrified that there could be someone else inside my head. So I can’t.”

He haunches over and buries his face in his hands. He jerks, surprised, when he feels her hand threading softly through his hair, massaging his scalp. He looks up and she’s right there with tears in her eyes and a smile smacked across her face he never thought would be directed at him.

Lydia settles over his lap, caresses his cheek making a point of stroking teasingly over every single one of his moles. “I don’t care about Malia,” she assures him. Her face is so close to his he can feel her warm breath in his skin, thawing him. “But it should be easy enough to find out if you were together, for your peace of mind.”

His lids flutter closed and his arm comes around her waist, securing her against him. Her forehead rests against his and a lonesome tear falls from her eyes and splashes in his cheek. “We’ll talk to every person we can find who knows about the supernatural and we’ll find out what happened when you and Void split up but I promise you, this _is_ your body. You are real and you are _you_. There’s no one else in here,” her small hand comes to rest over his heart. “I can feel you even when you’re not with me and when you touch me it’s like everything falls into place inside me, so there is no way you’re not here with me and there’s no way somebody else could look at me the way you do.”

Her lips whisper softly against his. “We’ve already lost so much… We’ll get through this. I promise,  Stiles. Just let me help you.”

Stiles cradles the back of her neck and kisses her hungrily. “I want you so much,” he groans.

“You _have_ me.” She kisses him back in full force, twins her fingers behind his neck and clings to him.

In a far from smooth movement, Stiles jumps from the seat holding Lydia close to him by the small of her back while he continues to devour her mouth. She squeaks, surprised at the abrupt change in position. She turns them until Stiles is leaning against the desk, steps between his legs and stands on her tiptoes to even out the height difference. At her insistence, the kiss turns slower, sweeter, stoking their fire progressively until coming out for air is no longer a choice but a necessity.

He finds the soft spot under her chin easily, bites and suckles at it until she whimpers and he has to soothe the small ache with his tongue. He feels her shiver against him, and does a good deal of shivering himself when he feels her hands sneaking under his shirt and her nails digging in his back. They break free for a moment and Lydia hurriedly pulls his shirt up and off, her eyes widening comically as she takes in his bare chest. She kisses the moles scattered down his neck and chest, fingers the dusting of hair over his sternum and on his lower stomach. She explores every inch of him, her eyes darkened with desire, like he’s the best-looking guy she’s ever seen, and he’s _not_ , he _knows_ he’s not but with that look on her face and the appreciative sounds she makes when she flicks her tongue on his nipples and touches him through his jeans, Stiles can almost believe he is.

The time for passivity is done however. He enjoys Lydia’s attention a hell of a lot, but he’s been holding back his feeling for her _for years_ , and the past weeks sleeping next to her and being able to touch her and pleasure her these last two days? Not helping. He _needs_ her. And if he doesn’t do something about it now he’s gonna lose it.

He brackets her hips in his hands, lifts her off the floor and in one swift movement turns them around, dropping her unceremoniously on his desk and pulling her flush against him. She clings to him instinctively trying not to fall and they both moan embarrassingly loudly when his hardness connects with her center. As it’s her custom, Lydia is wearing a flimsy skirt so the only thing standing between his rutting hips and her pussy are her panties and judging by the increased volume in her moans, the friction of his cock through the barrier of his jeans is driving her crazy.

He makes quick work of her shirt and bra, latching onto her nipples, alternating between one and the other until the peaks are hard and red and swollen, and simultaneously rocking his hips against her. There’s no rhyme or reason now. He doesn’t have a plan for this, not like their first time together when he did to her step by step what he’d always imagined himself doing while he jerked off in the shower. Not like last night when all he did was _tell_ her how badly he wants her. This time he goes by pure unadulterated instinct. There’s only giving.

And _taking_.

His hands rake up her legs, take a firm hold of her ass and he lifts her up once again. Her thighs bracket his hips tightly for support as he carries her to the bed where he lays her down as gently as possible. Stiles sits back on his heels, admiring the picture in front of him. Lydia’s gorgeous mane of strawberry blond hair splayed in a wild disarray over his pillow, her eyes dark with passion, her lips red and swollen. Her skin is fair as porcelain with but a faint dusting of freckles over her shoulders. Her nipples, pert and pink are a mouthwatering temptation.

Her chest heaves up and down, waiting for him to make his move. Finally, he leans over and kisses the slightly faded five inch pink scar on her waist, the unwanted gift Peter left her with, among other things. He hears her breath catch in her throat so he does it again, this time without breaking eye contact and catching the soft little smile she gives him.

Her skirt and panties come off in an impatient whirlwind and are closely followed by his jeans and boxes. He takes a condom from the unopened box in his bedside table and makes quick work of it, irrationally flashing back to Coach’s safe sex lectures back in freshman year.

Lydia is warm and wet when he settles carefully between her thighs and he feels his cock slide effortlessly between her folds. She bites back a moan when he bumps against her clit and buckles involuntarily under him.

He chuckles. “Easy there.”

“Shut it Stilinski,” she bites her lip, linking her hands at his nape and bringing him down for a kiss.

Stiles adjusts his cock at her entrance and slowly pushes in, matching his thrusts with those of his tongue on Lydia’s mouth until he’s finally deeply seated inside her. She lets out a whimper when he pulls back halfway and then rams back, hard. Her walls are tight around him and every time he pushes back inside and purposefully presses his pubic bone against her clit Lydia clenches around his cock, squeezing him for all he’s worth.

He’s near the end when he sees it, the bruise on the underside of her chin, a dark red quickly turning purple. The bruise he put there. His _mark_.

His thrusts grow erratic. Underneath him, Lydia holds onto his bedframe and arches against him trying to get all the friction possible. Stiles pushes her knees to the bed, keeping her legs open just so with his arms braced on the pillow on either side of her head, thrusting into her without abandon, urged by her high-pitched moans and the string of somewhat incoherent encouragements she mumbles. With dogged enthusiasm he bites sharply on the mark he gave her, and with a scream that could potentially bring every werewolf in Beacon Hills to his door, Lydia comes and takes him with her.

Afterwards, he lays a trail of lazy kisses across her face and draws their initials on her stomach with his fingers.

“Stiles,” Lydia asks, playing with his hair.

“Mmm?”

“How often does your dad check on you through the security camera?”

“A few times when he’s away,” he shrugs. “Why--?” his stomach drops as dreadful reality sinks in. “ _Oh my god_.” He buries his face in the pillow next to her. “Nooooooooo.”

Lydia giggles. Unconcerned by the camera, she disentangles their limbs and goes to get the comforter at the end of the bed, then effectively covers both of them with it. “I always wanted to make love in a blanket fort.”

**Author's Note:**

> So? Still breathing? Yes? Good. Thank you for reading!


End file.
